If the last days and weeks and months of pregnancy are a soul-harrowing desert, the postpartum days when your mom comes to take care of you and your family are the proverbial balm in Gilead: restful, refreshing, and oh-so-comforting.

My mom has been here for the past two weeks. She has done laundry, cooked meals, effortlessly made delicious varieties of fresh bread, taken care of the babies, and inspired me to drive places in and around Dublin where I’ve previously been too scared to go.

I hope my children will always have memories of Grandma like this:

Unpacking (a whole suitcase of) treats from the States,

Newborn babies getting baths in the kitchen sink,

AND . . .

Big sisters learning to walk again. Seeing Bronwyn toddle around with the help of her grandma is enough to make me tear up. Thinking about my mom leaving on Tuesday is enough to make me feel like crying too, but we won’t think about that.

No, instead we’ll gaze on the miracle of a newborn and savor the smell of his skin after a bath and realize that every day he seems to look more like a Jantzi.

So on Tuesday I’ll have to get my big-girl shoes on, but until then you can believe I’m soaking up all the blessings of being a semi-spoiled youngest daughter. ๐Ÿ˜‰